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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28103313">so i'll stay in the darkness with you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandelion/pseuds/Pandelion'>Pandelion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bleach</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Blood, Dub/non-con, Feral Behavior, M/M, Xenophilia, altered mental state, questionable sentience</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:02:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,949</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28103313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandelion/pseuds/Pandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something in here with him.</p><p>Grimmjow can't feel it - whatever the thing is, it's capable of hiding very well or it's too much for him to sense - but he keeps catching glimpses of something out of the corner of his eye. The barest flicker of a tail, the scratch of a claw. Once, the curve of what had to be a horn of some sort, disconcertingly far from the ground.</p><p>There is never anything there when he turns his flashlight to look.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>🧡💙The GrimmIchi Server 2020 Secret Santa💙🧡</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>so i'll stay in the darkness with you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/achanceofreign/gifts">achanceofreign</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A very merry Christmas to achanceofreign! I hope you enjoy this!</p><p>Details on the tags is at the end notes for those wanting more context before reading. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There's something in here with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow can't feel it - whatever the thing is, it's capable of hiding very well or it's too much for him to sense - but he keeps catching glimpses of </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of the corner of his eye. The barest flicker of a tail, the scratch of a claw. Once, the curve of what had to be a horn of some sort, disconcertingly far from the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is never anything there when he turns his flashlight to look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It follows him as he moves further in, sometimes ahead of him, sometimes behind. He loses track of it for long minutes at a time, but it always comes back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They'd split up at the entrance, each of them armed with a light, some water, and the pack of diagnostic gear that they're supposed to set up in the cave system, something about monitoring local energy patterns. Grimmjow had admittedly not been paying too much attention at the briefing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The excursion was supposed to be easy, if a bit tedious, given how far into the cave system they were going. It had been mapped out for them already, they were just doing the grunt work so that Szayel could do… whatever it was he wanted to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow turns a corner - another flick of a tail ahead of him, just where the light bleeds into the shadows. Almost there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s kind of regretting just nodding when Tousen told them they weren’t going to be issued weapons for this task. But then, the place was supposed to be safe. Creepy, the way even non-alien cave systems could be, with the slow dripping liquid in some unseen corner and the bits of tiny life that called the dark and the damp home, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. None of the surveys had shown evidence of anything bigger than a rabbit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s pretty sure that whatever this thing is, it’s a fair bit bigger than a rabbit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he presses on, because it’s been almost an hour already and it hasn’t jumped him yet. Maybe it’s just curious and practicing its stalking at the same time. Grimmjow’s not sure he wants to be the object of that practice, but it’s better than the alternative.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The alternative being “mysterious cave creature is hungry and has been delivered a tasty meal right to its doorstep.” He’s pretty sure he doesn’t get out of the cave alive in the alternative.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cave splits ahead and he stops, pulls out the little tablet with the map they'd been provided. The map is nothing fancy, as low tech as they could manage, given the weird interference that they’ve gotten in some of the deeper passages. Something keeps blocking signals or something, Szayel had a whole rant about it. Current theory is that there was some weird element in the rocks. Possible, considering the context - alien planet, alien caves, alien elements. Seems reasonable to Grimmjow, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His route is marked in pale blue, winding through the labyrinth of passages, a darker blue spot blinking at a junction. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You are here</span>
  </em>
  <span>. At least his tag is working.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He puts the tablet away, turns left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, a rock bumps against another one, the barest sound, but he’s had an ear and an eye on the darkness around him and it’s too far back to be caused by his own feet. He still can’t feel it, his bio-electroreceptors apparently useless against alien cave creatures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, though, nothing leaps out of the gloom and he’s left to make his way to the objective a little freaked out, but unharmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s another couple of turns before he emerges into the small cavern that is his goal. It’s a dead end in the tunnels, no other exits besides the one he came in, and somehow that doesn’t reassure him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t pay him to jump at shadows, though, so he slings the pack down, makes short work of setting up the sensor station against the back wall of the cavern. Again, it's as low tech as it could be and still do its job, with the hope of evading the interference that plagued their more advanced equipment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow double checks that the power light is a steady pink - Szayel’s personal touch - and shoulders the empty pack again, reaching to pick up the flashlight. Time to get out of this hellhole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes are slower than the light and his feet even slower still, so it takes him nearly three strides before he realizes he’s not alone anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flashlight trembles and he tightens his grip to steady it, reflexive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first thought is </span>
  <em>
    <span>reptilian</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Claws spread against rock and dirt like a lizard, thick tail pale and bare and covered in either scales or textured skin that matches the rest of the body, all four limbs folded in sharp angles at the sides of the body. But then the thing moves forward a couple paces and nothing cold-blooded has ever moved like that, the almost boneless slink of a hunting cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His second thought is </span>
  <em>
    <span>white</span>
  </em>
  <span>, except that’s not entirely true either. Sure, the skin or scales or whatever is pale, probably something approaching white, but the thing sports a mane or a frill that tangles around the base of the horns, the strands a weirdly bright orange in the light, and the body and limbs are lined in dark markings. Pale makes sense for a cave creature, living in perpetual twilight, but the orange doesn’t. Grimmjow can almost hear Gin wondering about what evolutionary choices had led to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He notes the claws, the tail, the horns, even the teeth - bared like a rictus grin and thin and sharp like needles - before he sees the eyes. They're gold, bright in the light, and there are no whites around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fauna on this planet are really bizarre, he thinks, but they have an oddly compelling beauty to them. This creature would be completely bizarre on Earth, too unlike anything that planet had ever produced. But here, it is natural and normal, probably the apex predator of its environmental niche, given the size of it. It’s way bigger than a rabbit. Probably about the size of a Great Dane, head on level with his hip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still can’t feel it, even though he’s staring right at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes a low noise at him, a dissonant sort of warble, and Grimmjow realizes they've been staring at each other for a few minutes. He hasn't tried to run and the thing hasn't advanced again, like it's willing to let him look his fill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finally came out to say hi, huh?” Grimmjow says, his voice too loud in the small space. The thing flinches at the sound of it, gold eyes narrowing, horns dipping an inch lower. Then it shakes its head, quick, like it’s trying to shake it off, and the horns come up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes a noise at him, different, then it moves and Grimmjow realizes that what had looked reptilian on all fours is surprisingly bipedal upright. Not quite humanoid, but the flattened face, the spill of the mane like unkempt hair, the taper from chest to hips... There is a certain amount of analogy to the human body. The legs still fold weird, jointed differently, and the tail is a big difference, but yeah. It looks like something his primitive hindbrain might consider smarter than other animals, no matter what all the alien sensitivity courses said about appearances and intelligence and the correlation of the two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t speak cave dialects, sorry,” Grimmjow says in response, mouth working on autopilot as he reassesses the situation. “Don’t suppose you speak Standard English? Español? Portugués? If not, then we’re shit out of luck. I don’t know any other languages.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It tilts its head, considering, opens that needle-sharp mouth. All that comes out is a low hiss, dissonant and sibilant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, didn’t think so,” Grimmjow says. “Look. You don’t want to eat me, okay? I’m probably tough as hell, you’d need the mother of all crockpots to make me tender. So how’s about you let me out of here, I get out of your cave, and we never see each other again. Deal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure why he’s trying to bargain with the thing. Maybe it’s the hindbrain reacting to the upright pose, maybe it’s because the thing hasn’t actually tried to hurt him yet. Maybe because after over an hour of stalking him, all it’s doing is making noises at him from the other side of the cavern and that’s...well, it makes him think his chances of getting out of this alive are a bit better than he’d originally thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just. Gonna leave, then,” Grimmjow says after a moment. He suits action to words, stepping sideways towards the tunnel - the creature is to the side, like it had sidled in while Grimmjow worked, like it isn’t worried about needing to keep Grimmjow trapped. It tips its head the other direction, but doesn’t otherwise move as it watches him edge towards the tunnel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow makes it about ten paces down the tunnel, walking backwards, before the creature follows, chittering as it keeps pace at the edge of the pool of light. It’s back to all fours, slinking along, head swinging to keep at least one eye on Grimmjow around the jut of the horns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking weird,” Grimmjow mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes the first few turns from memory, reversing the path he’d taken to get there, but eventually he reaches a junction and can’t remember if he goes left or straight. The creature is still there and it stops when he does, pushing back up onto its hind legs. Grimmjow shifts the flashlight to keep the whole of it in sight as he reaches to pull the tablet out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three seconds. He looks away for </span>
  <em>
    <span>three seconds</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He looks away from the creature, glances down at the map and the blinking light of </span>
  <em>
    <span>you are here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and then he’s dropping heavily onto his back, the wind knocked out of him with a wheeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flashlight drops, rolling to the side, beam pointed at the wall and it’s in reflected light that he sees the creature shift to stand over him, tail twined around his ankle where it had pulled him down to the ground. He’s still holding the tablet and the creature steps carefully on his wrist, firm enough to keep it pinned, the other foot planting itself against his hip, digits flexing until he can feel the tips of the claws against his waist, just hard enough to be present. It’s not as heavy as he would have expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It bends close and Grimmjow can see its eyes, the gold glowing despite the lack of light, horns carefully, politely tilted away from his face, like such a gesture means anything when there are four weapons against his belly, the softest part of him. He flinches despite himself when it reaches for his face, blinks in dumb confusion when the claws bypass his eyes to curl into his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fuck - “</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blue,” the creature says, awkward around its teeth and still with that weird dissonance, but very clearly Standard English.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...The </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It glances down at him and it laughs, soft and hissing, but amused. “Blue,” it says again, very carefully tugging at his hair. “Blue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow's gotten a lot of attention because of his hair over the years, both positive and negative, but this is probably the first time he's had an alien stalk him for over an hour just to pet it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Standard English is a yes, then," he says to the ceiling, a little afraid to move in case the creature twitches and slides one of those claws right through, like, his eye or something. He has no intention of becoming like Nnoitra anytime soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creature takes its time, threading its claws through his hair and humming, and Grimmjow just...lays there and takes it. He’s under no illusion that if he tries to get away that he’ll actually succeed, so it seems the more prudent option to lay there and let this creature do as it likes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has plenty of time to look at it, at least, with what little light splashes back towards them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teeth draw his attention first, needle-sharp and bared. No lips to speak of - the face as a whole seems weirdly smooth and shiny, not organic at all, like the whole piece is made of the same material as the horns. Maybe a piece of exoskeleton? It doesn’t seem to be a mask; the edges blend smoothly into the skin of the neck and the mouth opened when the creature spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of skin, Grimmjow’s initial impression of white seems fairly accurate, the markings and fur - hair? - aside. Up close, it doesn’t seem pigmented at all. The dark markings over the creature’s body are thick and regular, streaking down over the face, along shoulders and down the arms where they fracture into oddly geometric patterns around the wrists. When Grimmjow carefully tilts his head a little, he can see a similar patterning around the ankles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, at this range, Grimmjow is fairly sure his assailant is male. Not that he’s any sort of expert in reptilian sex identification, but he’s pretty sure of this one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks somewhere, anywhere, else, ends up looking at the creature’s hair. The lighting makes it seem a burnished copper, but Grimmjow remembers the bright orange in direct light. The strands are somewhat tangled, knotted around the base of the horns, trailing over shoulders and down the back of the creature’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a section of it hanging down, almost touching Grimmjow’s chest, and he stares at it for a long minute. The creature is still fascinated with his own hair, still touching and tugging at it. Grimmjow's left hand is still pinned under one clawed foot, but his right is free and he carefully, slowly, lifts it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creature pauses, turning his head to watch Grimmjow’s hand- Grimmjow freezes, hopes he’s not about to lose a hand - but he doesn’t seem concerned. Grimmjow keeps moving after a moment, keeps his fingers curled loose and natural, non-threatening. There’s no reaction besides the attention until Grimmjow’s fingers brush against orange, the strands a little coarse against his fingertips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those needle teeth part, the creature making a low, chirring noise as Grimmjow rubs strands of what is definitely hair between his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow glances up to meet gold eyes again. Round pupils, he realizes. That’s a predator trait, he knows, something common to animals that hunt their prey, especially during the day. Not something he’d expect in a cave lizard. “What are you?” he murmurs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those eyes narrow at him and the creature pulls back abruptly with a growl, pushing off against Grimmjow’s belly, his wrist. There’s a pinprick of pain - if Grimmjow looks, he’s pretty sure there will be scratches where those claws had rested - but no further injury.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What - “</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cool skin wrapping around his wrist as the creature bends, pulls on him, tugging. Grimmjow gets dragged a couple feet before he realizes what’s happening and scrambles to get his feet under him. The creature lets go as soon as Grimmjow pulls at his grip, crouching in the dim light and watching him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s between Grimmjow and the way out, but he’s still pretty non-threatening. Grimmjow catches his balance, then goes to retrieve his flashlight and the datapad that he’d dropped. The creature doesn’t even twitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Grimmjow says, pretty weirded out and starting to think he might not make it out of the caves after all. “Now what? You gonna let me leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blue,” the creature says and it’s still disconcerting, the two-tone sound of its voice. “Blue.” It moves back a few paces, stops. Looks at Grimmjow again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re shitting me. I ain’t following you,” Grimmjow says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets a huff in reply and then the creature is slinking forward on all fours, slipping around Grimmjow and ramming its shoulder into the back of his knee, making him stumble forward a couple paces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A snap of teeth and Grimmjow gets the picture: if he doesn’t go willingly, the creature will have no problem making him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to know I’m doing this under protest,” Grimmjow says, wishing - again - that he had his gun. He might have a chance with his gun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the creature cares about Grimmjow’s opinion, he doesn’t show it, just starts herding Grimmjow down the cave corridor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow walks in silence for a while before looking over his shoulder at the creature, who is keeping pace about five feet back. “I’m gonna call you Naranjo,” he says. “Means orange in Spanish. Y’know, because of your hair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo doesn't reply, so Grimmjow figures he’s fine with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They keep moving, Naranjo herding him with his body when they reach junctions. Grimmjow had known that the cave system was extensive, but this is starting to feel a bit ridiculous. They've almost definitely gone beyond what the scouts have explored. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pretty sure there are at least half a dozen horror films that start like this," Grimmjow says. "Unsuspecting guy gets ambushed by an alien creature while exploring a cave? Practically a classic."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo ignores him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They keep walking for what feels like another hour, deeper and deeper into the caves. Finally, Naranjo directs him down a short passageway that opens up into a bigger cave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cave is probably larger than it seems, but the walls are almost entirely covered with something that gleams in the flashlight's beam, silver and faded color in seemingly random patterns. Naranjo slips past Grimmjow, leaves him at the entrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plating, Grimmjow realizes after a minute. The stuff on the walls is plating, some exposed edges dotted with rivets, others jagged with whatever force had split them apart. Given the size of some of the pieces, maybe even the plating of a ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His light catches against writing in the corner of one plate. Big, complex characters with a lot of lines, smaller variants below, paired with numbers - Chinese, maybe Japanese, he was never familiar enough with the Asian languages to tell the difference. But he doesn’t need to be able to read the language to recognize the nameplate of a ship. Suddenly things seem to make a terrible kind of sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks for Naranjo, finds him fussing in the corner over something or other. "You sorry bastard," Grimmjow murmurs, seeing the almost humanoid shape anew. "How long have you been here?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo looks up at the sound of his voice, but makes no move to answer before he goes back to what he's doing. Grimmjow watches for a moment, then carefully moves into the cave. Now that he's looking, he sees evidence everywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There, a torn and mangled flight seat, human standard. Here, something that might have once been a portable mess kit, now barely recognizable after being distorted so badly, but Grimmjow can make out what he thinks is the emblem of Urahara Shoten, a popular supplier. Pieces of those metallic ship blankets, the ones that science says are as good as Old World wool. A locked box almost buried under rocks, bits of bright orange visible in the seams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of it covered in long gouges, scratches in sets of four that match Naranjo's hands, three fingers and an opposing thumb. They’re old, though, none of them fresh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Long enough to become something he wasn't before, Grimmjow thinks, answering his own question. However long it's been, Naranjo is long past the days when he might have been human, or something like it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow shivers lightly, wondering what exactly had happened to turn Naranjo from, presumably, a human into whatever the creature he’s looking at is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo emerges from the back of the cave, dragging something heavy. Grimmjow turns the flashlight, only to see what he can only describe as a nest. Old blankets full of holes jumbled up with bigger scraps of ship blankets, mixed with what looks like dried vegetation from outside the cave. All of it piled on a sheet of metal, probably more plating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the nest is situated to Naranjo’s liking, he comes back over to Grimmjow, nudges him in that direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow goes reluctantly, but the nest seems dry and safe enough, if a bit musty. He sits at the edge, careful. Naranjo makes a pleased sound in his throat and joins him, climbing into the middle of the nest without hesitation, twisting until he can curl up. His tail shifts over, curls around Grimmjow’s wrist and tugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you understand the situation,” Grimmjow tells him. “I’m not here to be your teddy bear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo just looks at him, gold eyes bright and steady under the curves of his horns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow glances around the cave, at the reminders that Naranjo was human at some point, that maybe some part of that lingers still. At the gouges everywhere, evidence of a mind not entirely resigned to its fate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Probably been kinda lonely, huh?" Grimmjow asks, quiet, looking back at Naranjo. "Are there any other cave lizards out there or are you the only one?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo doesn't respond, just tugs again. This time, Grimmjow sighs, but scoots back into the nest to try and find a comfortable place to be. He's been essentially kidnapped by Naranjo, he doesn't know where he gets off feeling kind of sorry for the poor bastard. But damned if it doesn't feel some sort of good to see golden eyes squint happily at him when he settles at Naranjo's back, away from the claws and horns and teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he's comfortable, he turns off the flashlight. If Naranjo decides to kill him, no amount of light is going to change the outcome and Grimmjow will need it for the trip back to the station, if he ever manages to get free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cave is pitch black without the light and Grimmjow shuts his eyes. The nest is surprisingly comfortable, if somewhat dusty and smelling of something sharp that's not quite unpleasant. Naranjo is a line of warmth against his back, vibrating gently with every breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite every intention otherwise, Grimmjow slips into sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wakes to sharp pain blooming in his hip, comes to awareness already swinging into the dark. His fist impacts with cool, textured skin and whatever had been biting him lets go, the pain almost doubling when sharp - teeth? claws? - pull out. He scrambles against tangled cloth, hand clamped over his hip and already feeling slick with wet warmth that he knows is his own blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dark doesn’t change with his eyes open, is still pitch black even when he lifts his other hand to his face. For a moment, he thinks he’s gone blind, but then something shifts next to him and golden eyes blink at him out of the darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, not blind, then. But what…?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day comes back in a rush. The cave expedition, Szayel’s machine, the creature stalking him, herding him deeper into the caves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Grimmjow says. “What the fuck?” He reaches out with his free hand, finds the flashlight he’d set aside, thumbs the switch. He squints at the sudden light, sees Naranjo flinch back as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the yellow light, the wound  looks dark, an almost perfect circle when Grimmjow pulls his hand and pants away to look. Each fang had left a perfect puncture wound and each one oozes pinkish blood. Grimmjow frowns, turns the flashlight to Naranjo, who squints at the light, but doesn’t otherwise look surprised or repentant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow’s blood is smeared over Naranjo’s teeth, along with something clear and viscous that mixes, makes a diluted pink where it drips over Naranjo’s chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Venom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. That’s not good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucker. What do you think are the chances that you just killed me?" Grimmjow asks. "Because I don't think human biology is gonna play well with alien toxins. Just a hunch."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo blinks at him, slow. Bastard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, if it hasn't killed me yet, I might have time to get back so Szayel can figure out an antivenom," Grimmjow reasons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That gets a response, Naranjo hissing, horns dipping an inch, tail lashing from side to side. He’s not happy about Grimmjow’s plan to leave, clearly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shut up, this is all your fault anyway. Stalking me like a damn creep and kidnapping me," Grimmjow says. "And now biting me. What, you got hungry in your sleep? Didn't we already establish that I'm too tough to make a good meal?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo rumbles, unhappy, but he inches closer, reaches a hand up to Grimmjow's head - Grimmjow flinches back before he realizes Naranjo is just reaching for his hair again. "Blue," Naranjo sighs, still dissonant and weird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Still not your fucking teddy bear," Grimmjow grumbles. "And I'm still leaving. I didn't come on this mission to have alien cave creatures pet my hair, okay? Besides, I doubt you have any food for human consumption. Or bandages."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His pants are already stained with blood and he's getting blood on the blankets. It seems like a lot, but he thinks it's slowing down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Blue," Naranjo says again. "Mine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, two whole words, now. Aren't we just moving up in the world," Grimmjow drawls, pushing himself to his feet with a wince. "Bad choice, though. I don't belong to nobody."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo snarls at him and it's a chilling sound, almost screechy, like nails on polycarbonate. Grimmjow pretends like it doesn't bother him and heads for the exit, limping a little. Hopefully his tablet map did a decent job of tracking their route here and he can use it to backtrack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claws scrape against rock as Naranjo scrambles after him, slipping past his legs to make a blockade of his own body, hissing up a storm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nice try, but you're gonna have to do more than nibble at me to get me to stop," Grimmjow says, pushing at him. He figures if Naranjo hasn't killed him yet, he's probably got a certain amount of leeway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurts to walk, each step pulling at the wound, but Grimmjow keeps moving, pushing past Naranjo every time the creature tries to stop him. The tablet did, in fact, track their route, so Grimmjow follows the squiggly line that traces through nothingness on the screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops to rest, leaning against the wall, Naranjo watching him silently from the edge of the flashlight's beam. "Bastard," Grimmjow says, just to say something. "Fuck you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he's caught his breath, he keeps moving. The screen says he's almost halfway back to the mapped tunnels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later, he trips, has to grab at the walls to stay upright, and he's breathing hard again. He stays there a minute, catches his breath again. His hip feels like it's on fire, but it's hard to see anything through the blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps moving, but his feet are becoming sluggish and he has to stop and rest frequently. Naranjo has stopped trying to block his way and is just following him, a few feet behind and silent as he watches Grimmjow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow checks the map again. He’s still going the right direction, but the distance remaining looks the same as when he last looked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell sort of venom do you have?" he asks Naranjo, blinking a couple times to keep the creature in focus. Naranjo doesn't answer, but he does come closer, that almost boneless slink like a hunting cat. "Was all this just a long con so you could eat me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand curls around Grimmjow’s ankle, claws barely applying pressure. Venom doesn't make sense, Grimmjow thinks. Venom is to incapacitate or kill when an animal's prey is too big or dangerous to hunt outright. But with those claws and horns and teeth, Naranjo shouldn't need venom to hunt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's it for?" Grimmjow mutters. He looks at the wound again, tries to wipe away the blood enough to see. The punctures are dark against his skin, precise holes that seem almost too small to be causing this much trouble. There's no inflammation, no dead tissue from the venom. The fire under his skin is spreading, down his leg and up his flank, but when he touches the edges of the bite, it feels thick and numb, like he's touching a layer of leather instead of his own skin. "What the hell."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand around his ankle is replaced by Naranjo's tail as the creature stands up, so eerily human like this. Hands reach for Grimmjow's chest this time, claws hooking carefully into cloth that parts like butter under the slightest pressure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow shivers as cool air hits his skin. “What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo glances at him as he starts to pull Grimmjow’s shirt off. “Blue,” he says and then makes a wordless, crooning noise that almost sounds like it’s supposed to be comforting. The dissonance kind of negates that, though, making it eerie instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shredded pieces of Grimmjow’s shirt fall to the ground and Naranjo makes a pleased noise, curls his fingers to run the backs of his claws over Grimmjow’s skin. The claws are cool and hard, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and Grimmjow shivers again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he says, but then loses his train of thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo’s claws hook into the waistband of Grimmjow’s pants, shredding through that as easily as his shirt. Grimmjow grabs at the pieces, trying to keep them on, but his fingers are slow and thick and Naranjo easily strips them off of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His tablet is...somewhere. Did he put it down? Where’s the flashlight? He can see, it’s around here somewhere. Oh, there it is, in his hand. Of course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone’s panting. Him? He’s the only one here, besides Naranjo and Naranjo isn’t making that noise. He’s making other noises, so it must be Grimmjow who can’t breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo croons at him again, the coil of his tail sliding up Grimmjow’s leg. He can feel it, thick and cool, strong like steel cable. Claws wrap around his wrists, tiny sharp points against thin skin - one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Humans have five fingers on each hand. Where did Naranjo’s nine and ten go?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gold eyes are close, too close. Grimmjow looks for the horns, finds them to either side, just wide enough to bracket his head, slender spikes of white in the corners of his eyes. They tip, just a little, and Naranjo presses his forehead to Grimmjow’s, eyes glowing from an inch away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blue,” Naranjo sighs, pressing against Grimmjow everywhere. He’s pinned against the wall, rough rocks digging into his back, warm, leathery skin against his front, cool air everywhere else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The venom, he thinks, trying to keep the thought in his head. The venom is doing this, making him...making him what?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo croons, low and distorted. “Mine,” he says. “Blue. Mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. Grimmjow can’t stay, has to go. Has to leave, go back to...to the station. Why was that so hard to remember? He swallows, tries to push against Naranjo, finds the creature solid like a concrete wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo makes a low noise, pulls Grimmjow away from the wall and down the tunnel. Grimmjow stumbles along, grabbing at the walls, at Naranjo, to keep from falling, his feet finding every loose stone and dip in the floor. Naranjo stays close, presses against Grimmjow to prop him up, guides him along. The wound at his hip doesn’t hurt anymore, even when he stumbles and a rock jabs right in the middle of it. That doesn’t seem like a good thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They make a turn and the light of the flashlight reflects back at him, making Grimmjow wince. Too bright. He drops the flashlight to cover his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s pushed forward, stumbles, but he doesn’t fall onto hard rock, but into a pile of soft fabric and grasses. He uncovers his eyes, squinting, finds himself back in Naranjo’s nest. He’s naked, he realizes, grasses poking at his thighs, his socks and boots the only things he’s still wearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The burning under his skin has spread and he’s hot, too hot, even socks and boots seem like too much. Grimmjow reaches for them, thick, slow fingers pulling at buckles until they come loose and he can kick off his boots, peel off the socks underneath. That’s better, less restrictive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo joins him, climbing into the nest and bracing over Grimmjow, pushing him gently onto his back. He feels exposed, skin bare and belly vulnerable. “Hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another low croon and it’s almost normal now, the way it grates, almost comforting. Grimmjow shivers, but then Naranjo is nudging between his legs and he’s got soft blankets at his back and warmth at his front, Naranjo’s weight pressing him into the nest, his face lowered over Grimmjow’s again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s good, grounding, and Grimmjow reaches for him, presses his slow, stupid fingers against leathery skin, holds him close. He arches up against Naranjo and oh. That wasn’t there before, he thinks, something hot and hard that slides against his belly, but it feels familiar, sense-memory from other times, other places. He presses against it again, hears Naranjo groan above him, feels an answering press back. Yeah. He knows this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow closes his eyes to feel it better, tips his head until he feels the press of one horn against his cheek, a line of solid pressure to match the one lower down. Naranjo’s moving, slow and tentative, but gaining confidence, rubbing slick heat against Grimmjow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The burning is everywhere now, eating him up from the inside, and he clings to Naranjo, crying out when it gets to be too much, but he’s held in place, kept still as Naranjo ruts against him. He can’t tell if his own body is responding right, all he can feel is the heat, the burning under his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo shudders over him, making sharp sounds until those needle teeth part on a low moan and Naranjo slumps against him, warm and heavy and just right to keep Grimmjow from feeling like he’s slipping out of his own skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s panting, fast like he’s been running, dizzy even though he’s laying down. This isn’t right, he thinks. He shouldn’t be here. But he can’t think of where he should be instead, can’t remember why he came here in the first place. It doesn’t matter, he decides; he’s here now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heat builds behind his eyes and he opens them, but he can’t see anything. He closes them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Above him, Naranjo starts crooning again. Grimmjow falls asleep listening to it like a lullaby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next time he wakes up, the burning is gone and the cave is dark again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except when he blinks his eyes, he can still see. He turns his head, finds Naranjo in the nest next to him, a tight coil of white and black and orange. The cave beyond is shades of grey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naranjo stirs, one golden eye opening, bright against all the grey. There’s a hum, then claws in his hair, gentle. “Blue,” Naranjo says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That's him, he realizes, and Blue hums, leans into the touch. It feels different than he remembers, a little more distant, but he reaches back, drags his own claws through Naranjo’s hair, the long, matted mess of it. He wants to laugh at it, make fun of Naranjo for letting it get so bad, but he can’t quite figure out how, so he settles for an amused sound in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Naranjo,” he says and that works, he can still talk, even if it sounds weird, throat thrumming with the weird dissonance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mine,” Naranjo says and Blue just hums agreement.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ichigo is a human-turned-alien creature due to *handwavey events* and has lost almost his entire identity as human by the start of the fic. He is animalistic and feral.</p><p>The dub/non-con is due to a venom that is transferred to Grimmjow through a bite that affects his ability to think and process. The encounter is physical and uncoerced, but neither party is really in a position to consent to or agree on the event.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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